Burdens of the Hero Complex
by Miss Pajamas
Summary: World War III has broken out and the nations go to war. America tries to save the world by going back in time to rewrite the past. Will it end in dire consequences? Ratings to go up in the future. Does have blood and mentions of vomiting, and will most likely have romance between America and England, considering it is a USUK story. Light hints of FrUk in Chapter 1.


Alfred should have listened to his logic. He was the most powerful nation in the world and one hell of a scientist. He should have left time travel to Hollywood, but he had to go back in time. It wasn't because he wanted to, it's because needed to. This wasn't about his country's gains. In fact, it was about one person.

Alfred can admit to doing stupid, ridiculous, and obnoxious things a lot of the time. However this was breaking it. He knows that this could have horrible outcomes, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care because Arthur is involved.

A week and a half prior, the world had gone to shit. World War III had started. North Korea had finally decided to start a nuclear war, blowing South Korea off the planet. Within hours, countries declared war on countries. It was full-scale chaos. After the United States declared War on South Korea so did the United Kingdom. Russia had declared war on the two nations, and suddenly everyone was joining in.

World meetings had ceased as tensions increased. Things were quiet on the second day. It was only the calm before the storm. Alfred was oblivious to the fact that he would not sleep for many, many days.

On the third day, Russia had given North Korea more nuclear weapons. On that day, The United Kingdom was blown off the face of the earth.

It was during a meeting in The United States, a safe bunker hidden where no one else would ever imagine finding it. Arthur was talking, and then suddenly he went paler than usual, shivering, sputtering. Green eyes, the eyes of the man who raised him, spilling tears and filled to the brim with shock, pain, and fear. His nose had begun to bleed, and chairs had scooted out from under the table, but no one could be as fast as Alfred was in this moment, leaping out of his chair and catching his foot on the table, slamming his hip back against hard wood painfully. He forced himself through it, it would leave a nasty purple bruise, but in moments he was running across the table and scooping the choking form of Arthur.

Screams were let out, though he couldn't hear them. He could only focus on the blood pouring from Arthur's mouth, nose and ears, as sobs wracked his body. Alfred cradled Arthur, couldn't help but sob in a manner that was unlike his heroic sort of way. This was Arthur, though. This was Arthur dying. He rocked back in forth, holding the man whom he cared so much for close to him, crying and screaming his voice hoarse. He remembered feeling Arthur's body relax, and Alfred could hear a voice, not his own whisper, "Arthur, are you all right you scared the hell ou-" he turned the limp, bloodied body of Arthur over. Everyone in the room went quiet, knowing what this was.

Alfred stared into the blank, dead eyes of Arthur. Those once fiery, filled with attitude and pride were glazed over, wide open, and most certainly gone. Alfred's blood turned to ice. He could feel his heart stop, he thought as well.

"A-Arthur..? P-Please.. N-NO. ARTHUR, NO! NO YOU DON'T FUCKING DIE! YOU DON'T BECAUSE YOU CAN'T… I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOU, ARTHUR! Y-You're… You're my best f-friend. Please!" Alfred shook Arthur, begging for some sort of response.

Francis kneeled down beside Alfred, running his fingers through Arthur's hair.

Alfred looked to Francis, tears spilling from those gorgeous baby blues, begging for some sort of confirmation that this wasn't actually happening. All hope vanished for him, his heart emptying into his stomach as he saw the Frenchman was crying as well. Tears were sliding down the bridge of his nose, salty and all too real.

Francis couldn't help but cradle the lost nation's head in his lap, pushing his fingers through the soft golden locks of Arthur's hair. They fell backward, exposing his forehead and Francis leaned down to place a kiss to it. The skin was still warm on his lips, but gradually growing colder. When he pulled back, he blinked the tears from his eyes, shocked to see that they had smudged with Arthur's blood. He closed the other's lifeless eyes, and let everything dissolve into silence.

There was no funeral. Life went on. Though Alfred refused to believe he was without Arthur. He hadn't slept since the previous night, and he had no intention to. Francis had grown sick, as well as some of the other nations who are around what formerly was the United Kingdom.

Alfred paid no mind. Forgetting the world, hiding away. He had just watched his best friend, his caretaker, die before his eyes. He wished he could go back. He wished he would be able to stop it all before it happened. His mind wandered. It drifted. He thought of the impossible, but he'd do the impossible for Arthur. The United States basically pulled out of the war, his citizens were crying in outrage. City after city burned down by mobs. Diseases broke out and by the fifth day people were taking the law into their own hands.

Alfred had been oblivious to the deaths of the other nations, which were dying from the vast amounts of radiation sickness spreading across Europe, taking out the population. North America had remained untouched, though Alfred kept a close tabs on the News, which was always on the emergency broadcasting network. Had been for days. Alfred worked diligently to create the perfect thing to send time back, to start over.

Alfred's hero complex is indeed powerful, feeling the responsibility of saving the world on his shoulders. He hadn't slept for days, hardwired by coffee and the reoccurring memories of Arthur's death. It truly destroyed him. The world was dissolving around him. By the sixth day, the Internet and TV networks went offline. Alfred hardly noticed, locked away in his laboratory. Minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day with barely any breaks. He hadn't showered, or brushed his teeth. His body reeked, and though he kept up with his eating, rationing it for the long days to come. He had to do this, for Arthur.

Instead of becoming a useless empty shell and giving up completely, Alfred was determined to do this.

On the seventh day, California was attacked, leaving Alfred crippled from the waist down. He had gotten himself a wheelchair, ignoring it and continuing on with his work. He felt the sickness from the radiation kick in on the eighth day. In his head, he could hear the cries of his people, desperate for mercy. They were desperate for their country to do something, though Alfred would not. His government had been overthrown on the ninth day.

He could hear the screams of the people, always keeping him awake when the constant torturous thoughts of trying to finish his time machine. He needed to do this.

On this day, the hallucinations had started. He could see the shadows, creeping forth. He could hear the whispers of Arthur's encouragement in his ear. Telling him it's not in vain. When Alfred saw Arthur approach him, he was adorned with white wings and glowing gold skin. He seemed to shine for Alfred. He showed up for split seconds before disappearing, and Alfred was jarred from the hallucination.

His eyes shot wide open, as screams from his people racked his head. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, seeing blood on it and eying it apathetically. He'd only cracked his now chapped lips. He tasted iron in his mouth, and wheeled over to the sink to wash his dingy, what Arthur would call a crime against hygiene, hands.

Arthur, oh Arthur. Alfred's best friend. Alfred's dead best friend. Alfred trudged on, getting a cloth for his forehead for the ungodly headache that had kicked up. Nausea had settled in him as well. The radiation was spreading through out his country. Alfred was running out of time. His brain made a prediction automatically for two days before the radiation reached and killed his heart. He shifted to different thoughts.

He was so close to the secret to traveling back in time. He could feel as if he was just on the verge of it.

On the tenth day, his stomach had begun to reject everything he put into his mouth. His lips were torn and bleeding. He occasionally got nosebleeds his teeth began to ache. His mouth tasted awful, like he decided to eat all the worst foods for his breath and then there was the sharp metallic taste of blood in his mouth, a reminder that he was dying and needed to be quick on discovering the secret.

He felt himself closer and closer to his death. His stomach was not doing so well without the food, but it was even worse without the water. His head is pounding even worse from the dehydration. His skin had become brittle from the lack of water, cutting easily as he worked. The lab had become a mess, book upon book covering the floor, wires strewn about the place like Christmas lights. Though instead of the bright colorful lights, he was greeted by none other than the dull black rubber material surrounded the copper wire.

Alfred had eventually had to bring out buckets for him to heave into, his stomach twisted and flopping in the most horrid way. He was so close, so very close to successfully saving the world.

In the next hour, Alfred had cracked the code. He was tired. He was dying. He knew that from the minute blood started to come from his lungs with a mixture of saliva in his vomit.

It had been a week and a half. He hadn't shaved, and was now sporting a beard, along with his horrid body odor and disheveled hair. All that mattered to him now, was the fact that he had finally found the key to time travel. However he felt as if he was slipping away.

He coughed more blood up, but onto his own clothes due to the fact he was unable to make it to a bucket. Instead of a mixture of the two, it was pure blood now, and he felt his nose start to drip with the crimson droplets. His headache pounded a deadly drum throughout his body, or was that his heartbeat?

Either way, he had passed out in his wheel chair, he thinks. The screams had grown quieter over the days, that or his brain had muted them out so they were nothing but ringing in his ears.

Hours had passed, Alfred wasn't sure exactly how many. He knew that it was quite a few. What he wouldn't give to have the skill of having an internal clock like Arthur had.

Arthur. Right. Arthur. Alfred had to keep going. He had to for Arthur. He tried to wheel over to the device he had created, to his discovery. It felt like the longest thing he'd ever done. He'd put in all his effort, using the strength he had. He was faintly aware of the new steady stream of blood coming from his nose, and his vision had gone foggy, even with the aid of his glasses.

He took an eternity, traveling across the room. He took even longer when his hand slowly, weakly, desperately reached for the button. His hand made it to the table and grazed over the button, before everything seemed to stop, vision slipping into a dark, soundless, surreal world.

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**Hellooo! Here I am. Writing a story that came to my head when doodling in class. Anyway, it's a short chapter, but I do plan for it to get longer. It's a time traveler story, I know. Ratings will most likely go up. Reviews would be most appreciated! **


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